What I'm trying to say is already said by a very close friend just yesterday: It's so hard to meet new people after twenty five. I can't imagine how that feels after fifty or something. No, meet is the wrong term. It's more about getting to know people or them getting to know you. It's hard either way. As time goes by, one becomes less curious about other lives. You wonder less, right? Other stories. Stories other than yours.
And if you happen to meet someone new, someone whose story you genuinely wonder about, someone whose presence in your life would make you feel better... I'm not talking about romantic shit here, romance has long been dead. I'm talking about any two people and how much should be said. I know at least one thing by now and that's alcohol should not be around. I mean a considerable amount. The amount enough for you to lose track of your revelations. It's valid even for those who don't separate life into private and public. Plus the memory issue. One forgets what is said and that's serious part of losing track. Of course it might as well be saving us from the following embarrassment.
What was that again? Familiarity breeds contempt. So maybe we should not say anything at all, not get to know anyone, not letting anyone get to know you. I know I'm blathering but you get my point. It's risky business socializing. Everyone has a fear of not being loved although to different extents. It might be big enough to make one avoid meeting new people. I'm not there yet. Not yet. I give a fuck though. I hope this will fade in time.
She's right. When you're fifteen, you have only fifteen years about which you need to tell. However now it's a little more than that. There's so much to tell. And not to tell. We have the wings and the tail after all. On the other hand, the fact that one gives it so much thought to what should be said and what should go unsaid might as well be a sign of a lived life. Plus it means that one still cares, gives a shit. That's something.
After having said so much, I don't think I completely understand why one keeps a secret about herself. What is there to keep? Privacy is still a mystery for me. I'm pretty good at keeping other peoples' secrets and respecting their privacy but.. This might be the only issue in reference to which I'm plain rather than sophisticated. Here is my modesty again. Anyway, I guess I should stop putting the blame on poor alcohol. As they say, it does not create anything but just brings out what is already there. What is there? Just another life, a story like any other.